


And I Shall Be with You Alway

by nanda (nandamai)



Category: Latter Days (2003)
Genre: Easter, Established Relationship, M/M, Mormonism, Peeps, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandamai/pseuds/nanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sundays are hard. Easter is harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Shall Be with You Alway

**Author's Note:**

> Mormons use the King James Bible, hence the spelling of "alway."

Sundays are hard. Sundays are Aaron waking up early and pacing the apartment, his body still expecting to have somewhere to go. On Sundays, Aaron doesn't want to be touched. He sits in the living room, studying his Bible, re-learning it without prejudice, he says, and Christian tiptoes around him. He's half afraid that if he leaves, goes to buy the paper or to the gym or even to watch the cars drive by out front, Aaron won't be there when he gets back.

As easy as it was for Christian to quit going to church when he left his mother's house, he knows Aaron needs something. Christian doesn't know what; obviously, Aaron doesn't know what. Aaron volunteers at Project Angel Food once a week, the same day as Christian, but on a different route. He's a friendly visitor at a hospital on Tuesday and Wednesday nights, when Christian's at work. Those things help; Aaron genuinely does like meeting new people, talking with them about their lives and their troubles, finding ways to help them get where they need to go, physically or mentally. But the right something hasn't found him yet.

Usually, Christian tells himself that Aaron will figure if out in his own time and leaves him to it, but once in a while he can't help trying to push the process along. He mentioned finding a church the first week Aaron was back, and Aaron looked like a frightened rabbit. Once he slipped Aaron a sheet  of notepaper with the URL of an ex-Mormon website, as they ate burritos in front of the TV. Aaron said thanks, folded it, put it in his pocket, and never mentioned it again.

*

Christian's work schedule for the following week comes out on Mondays, so when he gets home he sits in the kitchen, copying it onto the wall calendar he keeps on the refrigerator. He needs to have it staring him in the face first thing, or all hell will break lose. As he turns the page -- Thursday is the first of April -- he notices that the Sunday after next might be harder than usual.

"Huh," he says, then thinks for a minute. "Hey," he calls out to Aaron, who's typing something on Christian's laptop in the next room. "Is Easter a thing?"

"Of course it's a thing," Aaron calls back.

Christian smiles and shakes his head. "Is it a thing we want to celebrate? It's not big for Mormons, is it?"

"It's not big for the church, no." Aaron pads to the doorway in his dorky white socks, laptop closed and pressed to his chest, and leans against the jamb. "Why, what do you have in mind?"

"We could go to church?" Christian says carefully. "Andrew's friend Micah claims to have been to every gay-friendly church in a 20-mile radius. Or we could stay home and gorge ourselves on Cadbury Creme Eggs. Oh! We could somehow turn an egg hunt into a sex game." He waggles his eyebrows but gets no response to that last suggestion. "Or nothing. Watch movies, whatever you want."

Aaron's frowning, and Christian thinks he's made a mistake in bringing it up. He gets how weird it all is for Aaron, he does, and he can be patient, but sometimes he wishes for a map of the minefield.

"What did you do for Easter as a kid?" Aaron asks.

"Oh, sunrise service, Mass, the Easter Bunny, a giant ham, the works. You?"

Aaron doesn't answer. "Let me think for a while?" he asks. Then he smiles faintly, nods once, and leaves the room.

Christian thinks that's probably the last he'll hear about it. But that night, when Aaron's curled around him and Christian's almost asleep, Aaron says, "Church would be okay."

*

Christian gets up early with Aaron on Easter morning, and tries to forestall the pacing by making a big breakfast -- scrambled eggs, bacon, chocolate-chip pancakes that he tries to shape like rabbits. He doesn't need to worry, though: Aaron, showered, shaved, dressed, gorgeous, in khakis and a blue button-down he only wears for interviews, chows down with gusto, asks what Christian thinks the sermon will be about, and gleefully tells him what to wear. He loves telling Christian what to wear. Christian doesn't always let him get away with it, but today he does. They make it out the door on time and Aaron drives, with Christian giving directions.

The church is only fifteen minutes away. It's mission style, whitewashed, imposing, not what Christian normally expects from Protestant churches. Admittedly the only things he knows about Protestant churches are that priests can get married, and there is no kneeling. But it looks promising, with gay and straight families, babies and grandparents and everything in between, walking from the parking lot, through the front garden, and through the big doors. Aaron holds Christian's hand as they follow the others and find seats on an outer aisle, towards the back. While they wait for the service to start, Aaron looks around with big eyes, opens the Bible to see what version it is, flips through the hymnal, even points out a couple of his favorites to Christian. Christian sees him staring at a gay couple exchanging a quick kiss a few rows ahead of them. When the minister appears, Aaron threads his fingers between Christian's again.

All goes well until the first reading, when Christian can sense Aaron getting jumpy. Two lines into the hymn that follows -- Aaron has a nice singing voice that Christian hadn't known about -- Aaron whispers, "I'm sorry," and "I have to go."

Christian winces but tries not to let Aaron see, and gets out of his way. Then he finishes the hymn, which is pretty and reminds him of some of the better things about going to church as a child, and as everyone else sits down, he leaves quietly. It's a beautiful day. The doors are still open wide.

He finds Aaron sitting on a stone bench in the desert garden on the side of the building, and slides in next to him. The no-touching-on-Sundays rule doesn't seem to apply today, so he rubs circles on Aaron's back, between his shoulder blades, and says, "Hey, you okay?"

Aaron doesn't answer, or move. He's staring at the ground, hands clasped between his knees, slouching. Christian raises his hand to Aaron's neck, to stroke the hollow at the base of Aaron's skull with his thumb. He knows Aaron likes that; it helps his headaches go away, sometimes.

Inside, there's a prayer and another hymn, one Christian recognizes, but with different words. His arm starts to get tired. 

Finally Aaron says, "I hate that they hate me."

Christian hides his surprise. He's been assuming it was a church problem, not a family problem, and he should have known better. For Christian, after so long away, church is about church. For Aaron, it's about home. Of course it is. "I hate that, too," Christian says.

"I hate that they made me think this is wrong, that being here with you is wrong. That two women standing up in front of a church with their little kids and reading from Matthew 28 is wrong."

"It sucks," Christian agrees. "Maybe trying this on a holiday was a bad idea."

"No, it's good. I just never know how I'm going to react to stuff, you know? I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I ruined it for you."

"No, you didn't. Do you want to go?"

"Can we just sit here and listen for a while?"

"Sure." He wraps his arm around Aaron's waist and pulls him closer. Aaron doesn't object.

After the sermon, after the last hymn, when the parishioners start streaming out of the church while the organ plays, Aaron asks Christian to take some money inside, for the offering. He gives Christian a five. Christian takes it, but he'll slip it back in Aaron's wallet later. He quietly makes his way through the crowd and up to the altar, where he leaves a five of his own. 

Back outside, he's not surprised to find someone talking to Aaron. People always want to talk to Aaron, wherever he goes. He's that kind of person; he just looks kind. Christian joins them, stands close to Aaron and shakes the man's hand. He's a little older, and gay. 

"My boyfriend, Christian," Aaron says. 

"Pleasure to meet you. I was just welcoming Aaron to our church. I hope to see you both again." 

"Thank you," Christian says. The man walks away, towards another couple. Christian assumes they're new, too. "That was nice," he tells Aaron. 

"They do it for everybody."

"I know. It's still nice."

Aaron nods to a little girl holding a stuffed bunny by one ear. She's trying to wait politely while her mother talks to someone, but she's squirming, and bouncing on her toes, and obviously wants to go. 

"She's cute," Christian says. 

"You know, we have the Easter Bunny, too."

"Really?" 

"We have the baskets, and the plastic grass, and the Peeps."

"I love Peeps."

"Everybody loves Peeps. And then when the kids are high on sugar, we try to get them to calm down for family Bible study. There's Temple later, but they hardly even mention it there."

That explains some things, Christian thinks. "Kids," he says. "You mean your niece and nephews?"

"Yeah, my brother-in-law's from Arizona, so he and my sister bring them over early. The candy's a gift from my parents."

"They'll be doing that today?"

"Probably. I assume they are."

Christian wants to say, _We can have traditions, too,_ but he thinks it might sound pushy, when they haven't been together all that long. So he doesn't say anything. He slides his foot forward to tap his toes against Aaron's, to keep the connection, while Aaron looks like his mind is somewhere else. 

Aaron's hands are in his pockets, his eyes focused on the ground again, but he looks up at Christian's touch. "I thought if I got out of the house, I wouldn't have to think about it, and it would be easier," he says. "But this just made me mad."

"You can be mad," Christian says. Sometimes he thinks Aaron doesn't know that. Then, judging that Aaron's finally said what he most wanted to say and a joke might be welcome, he puts on his brightest smile and asks, "Would chocolate help?"

Aaron smiles back. "It might."

"Peeps?"

"Definitely."

"You know, there are lots of ways we can get out of the house, Aaron. Anytime you want. We could go watch the sunrise in the desert, go out for breakfast. I could kick your ass at basketball." It's surprisingly easy to come up with a list. Christian reaches for Aaron's hand while he speaks. "Maybe take a surfing lesson? Drive up the PCH. Rent some bikes in Venice."

"Yeah, maybe we should do stuff like that on Sundays instead," Aaron says. "For a while."

"Want to start now? I know a place in Brentwood where you can make your own Easter baskets. Hopefully it's open."

"Do you know how scary you are on a sugar high?"

"Live dangerously, Aaron." 

Aaron studies him for a minute, smirks, then starts walking to the car, still holding Christian's hand. "Home first," he says. "You need lunch, and I can't stand this shirt. Deal?"

"Deal."


End file.
